


A Startling Kind of Clarity

by DealingDearie



Category: X-Men (Movies)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-29
Updated: 2013-11-29
Packaged: 2018-01-02 22:59:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1062663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DealingDearie/pseuds/DealingDearie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik reflects on the two most important people in his life, and indulges in a few bittersweet memories as he sits in the park.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Startling Kind of Clarity

Erik can't say that he cried when Jean killed Charles, or that his eyes filled up with unshed tears, or that his face felt warm with grief. He can't say that he stood up, brushed himself off, and went to Jean with the intention of killing her for what she'd just done, and he can't say that he didn't help her-just what Charles would have wanted, really.

But, Erik thinks, he _didn't_ actually help her. He brought her to her own end, and the fact still pulls at the small amount of humanity he has left-or maybe the large amount, considering that he's one of _them_ now; a human, a _thing_ below the next stage of evolution.

Erik blinks, the anger giving way to memories as he finds himself thinking of Charles-he always ends up thinking of Charles.

 _Charles_ , with his bright eyes and cheeky smile, his dark hair falling into his eyes when he tipped his head back to laugh.

 _Charles,_ with his kind words and small gestures, his optimism almost palpable.

 _Charles,_ with those tears running down his cheeks, sand dotting his face as he cried in Erik's arms, a divide ripping through the both of them as the sky above lit up with missiles.

 _Charles,_ his blue eyes dimmed with time as he looked out at the world, seated in that wheelchair as he smiled over a game of chess, calling checkmate with the saddest look on his face.

 _And Charles,_ with his bald head and wrinkled skin, speaking of hope and chances and life, so convinced after all the years that laid between them, determined to find a way back to the Erik he knew so long ago.

And now he's gone, and Erik has no chess partner, no rival, no equal-he has no one.

He doesn't even have Raven (he never really called her Mystique, not when the ghost of that teenage girl rested in her eyes with that ageless gleam).

 _Raven_.

She was so beautiful, so wild and waiting and wanting, so very filled with that happiness he'd long ago had taken from him. And Charles loved her, as much as any brother could, and Erik had offered his hand to her, blindly ignoring the pang in his heart at the realization that he was taking her away from the telepath beside them.

After so many years of spiraling-down, down, _down-_ Erik can see, _truly see_ , with a startling kind of clarity. Raven lost her innocence, and she lost her shine, and she lost her love for the only friend she'd ever had-she'd lost what made her Raven, and he'd lost what made him Erik-becoming instead Mystique and Magneto, intent on doing everything Charles tried to keep them from doing.

He'd abandoned Raven, even after all she'd sacrificed to save his life-no, to save his _pride_ and what they stood for-and he had left her alone and scared and embittered, and in her no longer glowing eyes he had seen Charles, as he was so many years ago, kissing Raven's cheek as she laughed beside him, looking over at Erik with that smile.

Erik had turned from her, then.

People, the ones from their past, were mostly dead, or still living on with that same kind of optimism Charles had instilled in them, and Raven was gone and Charles was in the ground and his Brotherhood was disbanded.

_It was all gone._

Erik, now, looks down at the underside of his arm, where those cursed numbers mar his skin, the ink still bright where it lies, just like it was yesterday. He clenches his fist and watches the chess pieces as they sit dormant upon the board, a game left unfinished, and he looks to the empty chair opposite him.

No, Erik didn't cry when Charles died, and he didn't feel the rush of unshed tears pressing against his eyes, because that was took from him long ago, when he cried long into the night as the moans and screams around him rang on, bullets and pain and torture and _death_ so deeply imprinted on him that he'd cried out all of his tears, his heart hardening.

Erik didn't cry when Charles died, but he felt his heart break into a million small pieces as he watched, and knew deep within himself that he'd just lost the one thing that kept him alive; his other half.

_You're not alone. Erik, you're not alone._

But he is.

**Author's Note:**

> Please R&R! Feedback of any kind is always appreciated! ;)
> 
> All rights go to their respective owners.


End file.
